


heat

by bronigiri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hot Weather, M/M, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Summer, featuring a vaguely dick-shaped popsicle, osamu is suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronigiri/pseuds/bronigiri
Summary: When you're hot, you might as well just sweat it out.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Comments: 14
Kudos: 251





	heat

**Author's Note:**

> CNTW for Schrodinger's underage. They're probably in high school or something. It's up to you.

“Fuuuuck, it’s hot.”

Osamu doesn’t understand why Atsumu bothers to open his mouth if he’s just going to complain about the same damn thing every five minutes. He’d be better off saving his energy instead of getting worked up and making himself sweat. 

Just as he thinks that, an elbow nudges him in the side. “Move over, it’s my turn in front of the fan.”

“Fuck off,” says Osamu, nudging him back even harder. Yeah, screw that— there’s no way either of them are going to save their energy when they’re confined in this tight space with each other.

“We agreed on five minutes each! It’s been five!”

Osamu looks down at his timer. “No, _now_ it’s five. When you talked, it was four minutes and fifty-one seconds.” 

“Why are you _like this?”_

 _Because I was born into a world with you in it,_ Osamu thinks dryly to himself. He decided back in middle school that he was going to grow up to be a Nice Person, thank you very much, but Atsumu makes the job ten times harder than it has to be.

In lieu of answering, he moves away from the fan. Atsumu shifts to the spot directly in front of it— the rotation function just broke today, and neither of them want to make the trek to the nearest electronics store to replace it. The wind blows Atsumu's bangs back from his sweaty forehead, and he lets his head roll back with pleasure, moaning way louder than he needs to. Osamu sets his jaw and determinedly looks away.

He gets up and drags his legs all the way to the fridge. Ten steps feels like thirty. Summer is a nightmare. Summer with Atsumu is a fresh brand of hell.

Cracking it open, he grabs two popsicles— years of experience as a twin, translated into muscle memory. The gears in his brain turn, and he puts one back. Call him petty, but if he had to make this trip, then so should Atsumu.

He shuffles his feet back to the living room and plops down on the ground a few feet behind Atsumu, so he can catch whatever’s left of the fan’s breeze. Tearing the wrapper open, he gives the popsicle a lick and immediately feels more refreshed. It’s hard for a food enthusiast like him to pick a favourite flavour, but matcha definitely tops the list. 

Atsumu whirls around at the sound. “Hey?! Why didn’tcha get _me_ one?”

“You have legs, don’tcha? Get it yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

As Atsumu gets up, Osamu feels the beginnings of joy well up in his chest. God, nothing pleases him like getting under Atsumu’s skin. The pleasure is short-lived, though, because instead of making his way to the kitchen, Atsumu just crowds himself in the space between Osamu’s half-spread knees. In the moment of surprise, Atsumu gives the popsicle— still in Osamu’s hand— a long, satisfying lick.

Naturally, Osamu’s line of sight drifts to the way Atsumu’s lips wrap around the unfortunate, phallic shape of the popsicle. Osamu feels a vein pop in his forehead. He’s honestly tempted to brave the heat outside, because that’s got to be better than the heat that, against all odds, is building in the pit of his stomach.

The matcha starts to melt, and Atsumu chases the stray drop with his pink tongue all the way down to where it has landed on Osamu’s thumb. He sucks the tip of Osamu’s thumb in his mouth, licking it clean, eyes fixated directly on Osamu’s own. 

Here’s the thing. If there’s one thing his brother loves more than yanking his spikers around on his puppet strings, it’s yanking people around _off_ the court. Their opponents, bless their souls, never have to deal with this. Osamu’s just cursed, that’s what he is.

There’s no way that Atsumu, nestled against Osamu’s crotch, can’t feel the enthusiastic response pressing against his own thigh. Atsumu licks his lips, slow and deliberate, eyes half-lidded in a clear invitation. 

_Fuck it,_ Osamu thinks as he leans in, grabs the nape of Atsumu’s neck, and smushes their mouths together. _When you’re hot, you might as well just sweat it out._

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/tsumusamuwu)


End file.
